


just for tonight

by allskynostars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Old Friends, Reminiscing, best friends to strangers back to best friends to ??, bughead with a past, chance reunion, facing their feelings, mentions of barchie (nothing in detail), they never actually officially dated in high school
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:42:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allskynostars/pseuds/allskynostars
Summary: The only thing more surprising than the sheer relief Betty Cooper feels as she misses the last train home that Wednesday night before thanksgiving, is her company on the lonesome platform.Two old friends with an intertwined past spend a single night reminiscing, bringing up past truths and harsh realities in the city that never sleeps. Nothing is ever as it seems.-or-Betty and Jughead bump into each other for the first time since that night of their high school graduation 5 years ago at Grand Central Station, after they both miss the last train leaving for Riverdale that night. Who’s gonna bring it up first?





	1. betty - twelve a.m.

**Author's Note:**

> ignore all you know about canon, jug and betty were just best friends in high school (or were they) and never officially dated. i don't want to say much more because i want to leave some questions to be answered by the plot. but she's back! somehow found some of my writing mojo and this is what came out of it. i'm really excited for this fic, and it's been a while since i felt this way. this first installment is shorter than the rest will be, but enjoy! and let me know if you are actually interested in reading more. (title taken from a james bay song of the same name, which partially inspired this fic, alongside the film 'before we go'.) (as always big shout out to my beta addie you do god's work) 
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>  _Be the real thing, don't be just a ghost_  
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_Click clack, click clack._

The sound of her kitten heels hitting the concrete ramp to platform 14 of Grand Central Station match the seconds that Betty Cooper soundlessly counts down in her mind. A quick glance at her phone wrapped tightly in her hand shows the time at 12.01am, but she knows the trains always depart a minute later than scheduled. As she looks up to see the train still stationed at the platform, 30 seconds away from her reach, she pulls the strap of her duffel bag higher on her shoulder and picks up her speed. 

“Please please please,” she murmurs into the near-empty station as she finally sets foot onto the platform. She wills the doors to stay open for just a moment longer, but at the same time that the warning beep of the closing doors echoes throughout the empty platform, her heel becomes lodged in a crack in the concrete. Betty manages to save herself the embarrassment of falling flat on her ass in front of a train full of people by finding her balance quickly, whispering a thanks to her years as a River Vixen, but as she straightens herself back up, she sees the train departing away from her. And she is most definitely not on it. 

“Shit,” she whispers beneath her breath, but because it’s the last train to Riverdale of the night, and because she knows that the consequences of one simple missed train are huge, and because the station is seemingly deserted, and finally because it’s officially Thanksgiving now and her mother isn’t around to scold her, why _not_ yell exactly what she’s thinking. 

“Fuck!” 

The echo of her own frustration doesn’t make her feel any better, but there’s another feeling that’s been building in her chest ever since that first possibility she might not make this train crossed her mind, and it resembles something like relief, but she’s not going to address that right now, because she just wants to get home. _No, I need to get home,_ she thinks to herself, _there’s no want involved._

Before she has a chance to pull up the location of the nearest Greyhound bus station on her phone, because she really doesn’t know New York City that well at all, she spots someone. For a fleeting second, she feels her heart drop and her breath catch - she knows that face. Well, she can’t exactly see his face from the way he’s leaning forward on the bench seat with his head in his hands, but there’s something so familiar about the way he’s slumped forward, about the swoop of dark hair that covers his features. She’s about to shake it off, turn around and leave, because that would be some sort of sick irony and surely the universe doesn't have _that_ big of a grudge against her tonight, when she spots it. 

The beanie the supposed stranger is clasping in his hands, the one he’s wringing and stretching between his fingers, is undeniably one she knows. 

This time her heart nearly drops right from her chest, because there’s a memory flashing through her mind, reminding her that he lives in the city, has for years, and given the circumstance, that is most definitely Jughead Jones. A sudden rush of nausea overcomes Betty’s whole body, but seeing as he’s probably just heard her yell into what she thought was an empty station, she thinks throwing up all over the platform wouldn’t help her cause.

She doesn’t think he’s seen her, because surely he would have called out by now, right? Unless he doesn’t recognise her. Betty calculates just how long it’s been since she’s seen him, like it’s _not_ something she thinks about frequently, but she knows. It’s been 5 years. But she hasn’t changed that much, she thinks. Absentmindedly, she grabs at her ponytail and tugs on the ends, then looks down at her outfit - a pair of jeans and a sweater that’s probably not far from the ones she would have worn in high school, topped with a tan coat that she may have even _owned_ back in school. Sure, the heels are a new adult-era accessory, but the height of said heel is hardly anything drastic. It’s safe. A harsh laugh escapes her lips, there’s been no change in her at all. A wave of intrusive thoughts cloud her mind at the idea that she’s still the same boring, plain old predictable Betty Cooper, but with a shake of her head she deflects them. There’s definitely no time for _that_ internal discussion right now. 

With a quick glance around the platform, she assesses that they are definitely the only ones here, and there’s really no way he didn’t hear her curse echo from the station walls, or the way her heels clacked down the ramp in her rush. Maybe he’s already seen her, she thinks. Maybe he’s seen her and chosen not to acknowledge it. And that’s probably best, and really she should just head to the nearest bus station because she _really_ hasn’t got time to catch up with an old friend. (Definitely not this one.) 

But, he’s obviously missed the train too. She puts the fact that he was definitely here before her, so realistically he could have made it before the doors closed, to the back of her mind. He must be going home for the holiday too, so maybe she should suggest her bus idea to him. It’s courteous, she argues with herself, it’s the right thing to do to help a friend, albeit one you haven’t seen in a long while. 

So, she ignores the internal voice that’s screaming at her _this is a bad idea Betty, have you forgotten the exact last time you saw him?!,_ takes in a shaky breath, and puts her foot forward in an unsteady step towards him. 

“Jughead?” He glances up instantly, and although she can’t be sure, it seems like he takes a moment to mask his face into one of surprise. 

“Betty?” he asks with squinting eyes, as if he’s not really sure what he’s seeing. She focuses on her continued steps towards him instead of the memories hearing her name in his voice has brought flashing through her mind. She watches him stand and tug his beanie over his head, becoming the old Jughead she knew so well in less than a second. He wipes his now empty hands against the fabric of his jeans before he takes a step forward to meet her on the platform. 

“Oh my god, it _is_ you,” she replies, now hoping like hell that he didn’t see her standing those few feet away from him debating whether to approach him or not, and that he can’t detect the faux surprise in her voice. He’s wearing a wide smile, like he’s genuinely happy to see her, and she realises it’s mirrored on her own face. “Beanie and all.” They’re standing in front of each other now, and Betty goes to reach out her arms for a hug but stops short, letting them fall awkwardly back to her sides. 

He must have noticed though, because he says, “Beanie and all. I can’t believe you’re here,” with a laugh in his throat, and he holds his own arms open toward her. “C’mere.” 

She takes a half step forward, more of a shuffle, directly into his arms and wraps her own around his back, her hands coming to rest against his shoulder blades. His wrap around her shoulders, and Betty notices it’s not a tight, all-consuming embrace, but she’s only comparing it to what they used to be like and not acknowledging that so much time has passed he’s probably feeling just as unsure as she is. With a double tap of her palm against his shoulder blades, she begins to pull away, but not before taking a deep breath in through her nose. His embrace may be different, but his smell is not. She can’t begin to pinpoint what it is right now, nor has she ever been able to all she knows is it’s a distinctly Jughead scent, and it warms her all the way to her toes. 

At least that hasn’t changed, she thinks. Time hasn’t changed her memory of it, or taken it away from her completely. It’s the one thing about him she still knows - that, and his beanie. 

“What are you doing in the city?” he asks, his eyes flickering over her face, which Betty realises is exactly what her own are doing. Trying to re-familiarise with an old sight, looking for the lines and marks that she used to know so well, double checking that they haven’t changed, unlike so much else. 

“I had a work thing, with some editors,” she starts. “It was convenient with the timing, seeing as we were heading home for Thanksgiving anyway. And New York City is surprisingly closer to Riverdale than LA is.” It’s as she’s talking that she realises another thing that her memory hasn’t gotten wrong all these years; his eyes really _were_ that blue. “But, maybe not,” she motioned toward the empty tracks. Jughead’s eyes dart towards the track and then back to her face, a humorous smirk pulling up one corner of his mouth. “I’m guessing we’re in the same boat here, then. You going home for the holiday too?” 

“I was going to go back to Riverdale. At least, I was considering it,” he turns and nods his head towards where he was sitting, “for quite a while as I watched the train fill with people, and then watched it leave.” Betty notices said _Riverdale,_ not _home,_ but doesn’t think much of it. 

“Are you still considering it?” she inquires. “Because I was about to google where the nearest bus terminal was, and hope there’s a Greyhound I can make in time.” He shrugs but reaches a hand out for her bag. 

“Port Authority is your best bet, I can walk you there. Here, let me carry your bag.” Betty doesn’t have a chance to refuse his offer before he’s slipping the strap from off her shoulder and tugging it up and over his own. Jughead offers a sweet smile before he nods in the direction of the exit. “We should leave before we get kicked out, anyway,” he laughs. 

“Right, yeah. Thank you.” Betty returns his smile and follows him back up the ramp into the main part of the station. “So, now we’re here. How have you been, Jug?” As soon as the words leave her mouth she knows how dumb that question is, as if he could give an average answer for his well-being in 5 years. 

“Fine. Same old Jughead,” is his response though, and she’s reminded that he isn’t one for small talk anyway. He looks sideways at her and offers another smile, before asking, “how about you, Betts?” 

Betts. It’s been a while. She swallows around the lump in her throat and powers through. 

“Fine? That’s all you’re gonna give me?” she teases, falling so quickly back into comfort with him. The side of his mouth that she can see from this side tilts up, and he shakes his head subtly. 

“That’s all there is to give.” He glances towards her again. “So, how about you?” Betty crosses her arms and shrugs. 

“Fine. Same old Betty.” That earns her a laugh, and the sounds blooms in her chest. Yet another thing her memory hasn’t gotten wrong. 

“Ah, but we both know that’s not true,” he jokes, but there’s an undercurrent to what he’s saying and the air suddenly feels much less lighter than it did a moment ago. Betty clears her throat in the awkward silence, unsure of what to say next. They’re inside the main part of the station now, cutting across the floor towards the main exit. She feels the pull to do something with her hands, to feel occupied, so she reaches for her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, smiling briefly at the photo of her niece and nephew's toothy grins before unlocking it with her thumbprint. She types in the name of the bus terminal Jughead told her, and pulls up the next bus leaving that passes through Riverdale. 

“There’s a bus to Plattsburgh that stops in Riverdale. It leaves in half an hour, will we make it?” 

“You will,” he replies, his gaze focusing on his moving feet as he adjusts the strap of Betty’s duffel on his shoulder. He clears his throat before he says, “I’m not going to bother. JB called earlier and said she’s just going to stay in Toledo after all, and she was kind of the only reason I was going anyway.” 

“Oh,” Betty isn’t really sure of what to say, and Jughead speaks again before she gets the chance. 

“It’s only like 15 minutes away, straight down 43rd then onto 8th Ave, we can just walk fast.” His knowledge of the city compared to her own is a harsh reminder of how separate their lives have become. He opens the door and ushers her outside of the station, and Betty pulls the collar of her coat tighter around her neck in a fight against the pierce of the cool night breeze. 

“You cold?” Jughead asks. Betty shakes her head no. 

“I’m _fine,_ ” she jokes, hoping to lighten the somber mood again. Jughead just looks at her for a moment, shakes hishead in what could be disbelief, Betty’s not sure, and then nods his head in the direction they need to walk. She needs him to talk though, because there isn’t much time and well, now that she’s got him here with the opportunity to ask, she’s curious. (She’s always curious about him.) 

“Seriously though, how’s big city life? What are you working on these days?” Jughead shrugs again, clearly a habit he’s never dropped, she thinks. 

“I love it, it’s great. I work at a publishing company, as a blurb writer. It pays stupidly well.” Betty looks up at his face as they walk side by side down the sidewalk, the yellow street lamps reflecting shadows over the cut of his jaw, still in disbelief that he’s _here_. When she asked what he was working on these days, she had meant novel-wise. Maybe he’d misheard her, she thinks, because she’s positive writing wasn’t ever something he was going to give up. He looks in her direction, quickly checking the traffic as they cross the road, and she fixes her gaze on the street ahead of her instead of his face. 

“That’s great, but I meant what are you writing these-” The ring of her own phone cuts her off, and as she glances at the caller ID, her heart drops for the third time that night. It’s Archie. Her gaze flicks back to Jughead’s face of its own accord, and even though he’s still looking ahead, she can tell by the way his jaw is set that he’s seen who’s calling. “Sorry, I have to...” 

“Go ahead,” he replies with a bow of his head. Betty makes no point to stop walking as she answers the call - she really needs to make this bus. 

“Hey Arch,” she starts, trying to focus on her steps and keeping her voice low. “I was just about to call you, I-” 

“Are you on the train?” he asks, and Betty can hear the strain in his voice. In that moment she desperately wants to be, because being on that train would be tremendously easier than what’s going to happen now. 

“I, I missed it. Dinner ran late and I-” 

“Are you kidding me, Betty?” He says it loud enough that she’s pretty sure Jughead could hear him through her tiny speaker. 

“I’m sorry, Archie,” she apologizes, because she really _is_ sorry. She’s sorry for missing the train, sorry for so so many things. Sorry for him, for them, for this mess. 

“Yeah, me too.” He sounds defeated and it breaks her. 

“I’m heading to a bus terminal now, there’s a Greyhound that leaves in -” 

“Betty,” Archie sighs, “don’t bother with a bus. There’s no point.” 

“Oh,” she starts, her voice low and unsure. 

“Look, just…” he pauses, and Betty can hear him shuffling in his seat, she can _feel_ the hand he scrubs across his face. “Find somewhere to stay, it’s a big city. Or do what you want. Whenever you get to your parents, if you even do, call me. We’ll talk then, okay?” Betty nods in response, before realising she’ actually needs to say something. 

“Okay,” is all she can manage. It’s weak, but there’s that feeling building in her chest again, the one that resembles relief. Because even if it hurts, it’s inevitable. There’s a moment of pause in which Archie takes a deep breath, and Betty waits for him to speak again. Instead, there’s the tone of disconnect ringing through her ears. _He hung up on her?_ She pulls her phone away from her ear and just stares at it for a moment. _Is this really it?_

“Betty?” Jughead calls out to her, a few steps ahead, and she hadn’t noticed that she’d stopped in the middle of the street. “Everything okay?” His face is soft and genuine, so Betty plasters a sad attempt at a smile on her face and nods her head, and walks towards him again. 

“Yup, peachy.” 

“Peachy?” Jughead teases, and even though they’ve started walking again, his eyes are still trained on her face, looking for any sign that she’s really not okay. He used to know her better than anyone, Betty thinks, _maybe he still does_. “That’s definitely a word for Betty in her twenties,” he jokes, and she figures he’s trying to lighten the mood, so she plays along. 

“Oh yeah? What are some other words for Betty in her twenties then, Jones?” she queries, eyeing him with a challenging look. 

“Okay, let me think for a second,” he says before biting his tongue between his teeth in faux concentration. “Bee’s knees? Hip to the jive? Swanky?” 

“Jug, did you mean me in my twenties, or in the 1920s?” Betty can’t stop the giggle that’s building in her chest, escaping through her mouth. 

“Oh, Rhatz! Don’t be such a wet blanket,” he chides humorously, with some terrible accent she can’t pinpoint. Before she can wind him up some more though, he’s got a gentle hold on her shoulder as he guides her to turn onto 8th Ave. It’s the first time he’s touched her in so long, besides their hug earlier when she was too preoccupied to focus, and she can feel the heat from his touch sear through every layer she’s wearing. There’s a sudden flashback flickering across her mind like a film reel, snapshots of his hands all over her, where she wanted him, _needed him_. There’s even a faint echo of her name in his voice, different to every other way he’s said it before. 

Or after. 

He gives her another soft smile as they wait for the pedestrian light to turn green, and as Betty looks around she can see the bus terminal directly across from them. It’s close, too close, and Betty feels overwhelmed with panic, because she wants more time to catch up with Jughead. She wants a distraction from her mind. 

The beep and little green man jolt Betty from her thoughts, and she follows Jughead across the road to stand in front of the main entrance of the Port Authority bus terminal. Jughead slides her duffel bag from his own shoulder and offers it out to her. 

“You have reached your destination, Miss Cooper.” 

Betty takes the bag from him and smiles her thanks before slinging it back over her shoulder. They stand there for a moment, neither one knowing what quite to say. 

Betty breaks first. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to get the bus home?” she asks, with hope in her voice. It’s a selfish ask and she knows it; she just doesn’t want to have to sit on the bus and think about what comes next. 

“Nope,” Jughead clarifies with a severe shake of his head. “A three and a half hour train ride was one thing, but five hours on a bus? No chance. Not even you could tempt me with that.” There’s a lump in her throat (again) and a warmth in her chest (again) at his words all at once. 

She swallows back so many things she wants to say, and instead tells him, “Well, it was good to see you Juggie, however brief it was.” 

“Like ships in the night.” He smiles so softly, and there’s something in his eyes that make Betty’s heart feel like it could burst. Something else flickers across his gaze though, it’s a physical change Betty can feel, and his face becomes solemn. “Are you sure you’re okay? I heard...” he reaches a hand to scratch at the back his neck and shuffles his feet, “I heard Archie before. And I know it’s none of my business anymore, but he sounded angry.” 

Betty closes her eyes for a brief moment, tries to think of any kind of excuse she could make up on the spot, but the attempt falls flat. And besides, she was never any good at lying to Jughead anyway. 

“It’s...it’s a lot, Jug,” she says, her voice just above a whisper. “But I am okay, I promise.” He gives her a small sad smile, one that says _you can’t fool me, but I’m not gonna push._

“Okay, I believe you.” And then he’s pulling her into another hug, this one much more sure and reminiscent of what she remembers it was to be hugged by him. His arms are tight around her shoulders, and his breath moves the hair around her ear and tickles ever so slightly. “But not really,” he mumbles into her ear, words just meant for the two of them. 

All too quickly, she’s free from his embrace, and he’s walking away from her, backwards into the night with his hands in his pockets. 

“Look after yourself, Cooper.” And then he turns away from her, and she’s fighting an internal battle. She looks into the bus station, where she could board a bus home and face her problems head on. But then her gaze flits back to Jughead as he’s walking away from her, and she can’t bear it. 

“Jughead!” Betty calls out after him, and she’s almost certain she can see the ghost of a smile play at his lips as he turns around slowly. She jogs a little closer so she doesn’t have to yell down the street. “Wanna blow this joint?” 

He laughs and shakes his head at her again, like he did earlier, “You hungry? I know a place. It’s kinda swanky.” 

Betty takes a second to admire Jughead from where he stands, under the bright lights of the city he loves so much, and only a few feet away from her for the first time in a long time, and even though she’s really not that hungry at all, she nods her head. She’s got time tonight, and she wants to spend it with an old friend. 

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**tbc**


	2. jughead - two a.m.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another shoutout to my amazing beta, addie, cause this fic would be a disaster without her finding all my tensing mistakes.
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_Let me in, where you been?_

_What we gonna be this time?_  
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“Jughead!” The relief that flows through his whole being at her voice calling back out to him is overwhelming, and he can’t help the beam of his smile as he turns back to her. She’s wearing a look he knows well, one that takes him right back to the Blue and Gold office of Riverdale High. Her eyes are wide and hopeful, and he can see the whole city reflected back in that familiar green he’s missed so much. 

“Wanna blow this joint?” 

_You have no idea._

That’s how they end up in a 24-hour diner in East Village. It has a different feel to the diner they know and love, but Betty had said on arrival, “It is _swanky_ , Jones,” so he figures it was a good choice. She spends a moment staring at the title sign above the door that reads _‘the remedy’_ in red neon. He wonders if that’s some kind of poetic irony. There’s more than one comment he could make here, but he decides against it. Food is often a remedy for his problems, he knows, but Betty has always been more insightful than him. 

So instead he says, with his hands in his pockets and a shrug of his shoulders, “It’s no Pop’s, granted, but it’s 24 hours and the coffee is above par, so…” 

His voice trails off as Betty’s eyes flicker through the windows of the diner, wondering what she’s seeing. “Besides, with all the walking we just did I think a cheeseburger is well deserved.” That cracks her, and she tilts her head towards him slightly with a half-raised smile and mirth in her eyes. 

“Not that you need an excuse,” she quips back. 

“Nope.” He can’t help the knowing smile that threatens to take over his face, so before he gives it the chance, he takes a step forward to open the diner door and holds it open for Betty, ushering her in with a wave of his arm. 

“After you, m’lady.” 

“Although,” Betty starts as she walks through the open door, pausing to admire the interior and smile at the nearest waitress for a moment before turning back towards Jughead, “the walking was your fault.” 

“Guilty, we _could_ have gotten a cab or an Uber, but then you wouldn’t have seen the sights properly.” _And I’m really not sure how much time I’m gonna get here with you, so I’ll drag it out as much as I can._ He can see Betty shaking her head in front of him as he follows her towards one of the empty booths in the far corner. He looks around the diner and notes it’s surprisingly empty, even for 2am, but then he reminds himself it _is_ Thanksgiving, and some people do have family that actually care for them. 

He looks toward Betty as she places her duffel onto the seat of her chosen booth before she slides in next to it, and he wonders if her family cares for her like they should yet. Or if Archie does. 

As he falls into the booth opposite to where Betty already sits, smiling up at him, he’s suddenly thrown back in time. She’s so familiar to him as she takes off her coat like she would have back then, as she reaches with both hands to tighten her ponytail against her head from where she sits. And yet she’s so _new_ to him in these booths that are yellow vinyl, not red. The reminder that even though it’s easy enough to call back those memories, it doesn’t change the fact that both themselves and their lives have changed so much, hits him square in the chest.

“I didn’t really mind the walk, Juggie,” Betty interrupts his thoughts (with that nickname, the one that no one he knows in this life he has now uses). “It was nice. My tour guide had information on the city that I’m sure they fight to keep out of the guide books,” she jokes. “And plus, even though I had seen the Empire State before, the Flat Iron building was new to me. So, thank you.” She offers him a small smile then, one he knows, and he wonders if he’s going to be doing this all night, like there’s a chart in his mind with separate columns for _Old Betty_ and _New Betty_ for him to fill out.

_(The Betty He Knew / The Betty He Doesn’t.)_

 

_(His Betty / Not His Betty.)_

_No,_ he reminds himself. She was never his, not like that. Ultimately, all she has ever been to him is the best friend he’s ever had in his life, and that counts for more than anything else. Even though, when he lets himself bring _that night_ , the one he’s buried deep, toward the forefront of his mind, he can remember clear as day how it felt to _really_ touch her. 

Jughead clears his throat. 

“You’re welcome,” he tells her as he reaches for the two menus one of the waitresses had just dropped to their table. “I come here a lot, and I’ve tried nearly all of their burgers-”

“No surprises there,” Betty cuts in as she takes one of the menus he’s offering to her. Jughead eyes her over the top of his own menu, and he can see the laugh within her eyes as she pretends to scan the options. “But a burger at 2am?”

“You’re in New York City, baby,” he jokes in what even he would consider to be the worst New York accent ever. “As I was saying,” he continues from behind his own menu again, hiding his smile at the way Betty’s cheeks now have a rose tint to them that they didn’t a moment ago, “I’ve tried nearly all of them, except the veggie burger _obviously,_ because what would be the point of that. And I have come to the conclusion that the bacon cheddar burger is by far the best. The only difficult decision is whether to get fries or onion rings.” 

As he places his menu face down on the table, he notices Betty has it flipped, and she’s looking through the drink options. He’s about to ask what she’s thinking of getting when she poses a different question first. 

“And a strawberry milkshake?” 

He smiles. “Good to see I’m still predictable,” he retorts jokingly. Betty shrugs. 

“Not predictable, just a man who knows what he likes.” She continues to browse over her options on the menu before asking, “Have you tried the pistachio milkshake?” 

“What, no vanilla?” he clarifies, trying to mask the tone of surprise in his voice. It’s ridiculous really, that he’s felt his heart drop over a stupid milkshake flavour, but she could still pick his like it was just yesterday they used to do this. He mentally marks it under his _New Betty_ column.

“We can’t _both_ be predictable Juggie, where’s the fun in that?” Her tone is light, and he kind of wants to argue the point that there is fun in realising a person is just how you left them, that time can pass and yet, you can still fall back into the same patterns so quickly. But, he supposes there is also sadness in that too, clinging to nothing more than a memory when change is just the inevitable. 

And besides, _it’s just a milkshake._

“Hi guys, you ready to order yet?” The waitress breaks his train of thought as she turns to face him. She’s one Jughead knows well, and is probably his favourite waitress here. She gives off a ‘cool aunt’ type of vibe, with her greying hair pulled into a high bun and the laughter lines around her eyes. “The usual for you, Jughead? And are we fries or onion rings tonight?” 

“Fries tonight, thanks Pam.” The waitress gives him a sly smile and scribbles down his order on her notepad, then turns towards Betty with a warm smile. 

“And for you, sweetie?” 

“I’ll have what he’s having, please. He’s the expert, apparently. Except I’ll go for the onion rings.” With a knowing smile Betty hands her menu back to Pam, then turns towards him. “I know Jughead’s going to regret that decision anyway, so now he gets the best of both worlds.” 

He can’t fight it, the warmth that over takes his whole body and the grin that threatens to split his cheeks in half because she still _knows,_ and it’s made worse when Pam recites their orders back and Betty says, ‘“Actually, can you make my shake vanilla please?” 

“Of course. Coming right up, kids.” And then Pam is gone, and it’s just the two of them again.

“No pistachio then?” queries Jughead. She shrugs, with the smallest smile that says more than anything, and nervously toys with the napkin that’s wrapped around her cutlery. 

“So sue my nostalgia.” 

Given the emptiness of the diner, their food arrives quickly. When Betty unwraps her knife and fork from the napkin and cuts her burger into four, he notes it under _Old Betty,_ before picking up his own and biting into it, feels the grease run down his chin and moans with his mouth half full. 

“So. Good.” 

Betty nods her appreciation, and unlike him, waits until she swallows her first mouthful before speaking again. 

“So how did you find this place anyway, Jug?” Betty asks. He chews around the bite he just took and swallows before shrugging. 

“I used to walk around Lower Manhattan a lot, when I first started at NYU. I guess you could say I was looking for places that made me feel at home. And voila, here we are.” He takes another bite before looking back at Betty, and even though her face is tilted toward her plate, he can see the expression she’s wearing, like she’s feeling sorry for him. It’s either that or it’s guilt, which is ridiculous, because it was his choice to come to NYU and not follow the rest of them to UCLA like they’d planned. 

NYU was his dream, and they knew that. That was why… 

“Lady Gaga was in here, once,” he says, as a distraction from his thoughts and also to put a smile on her face again. It works. 

“Shut up!” she gasps. “Were you here? What was she like?” 

“I was here, but we didn’t exactly split a milkshake Betty, I barely realised it was her,” he laughs, but the excitement on her face is palpable. “You live in LA, don’t you see stars all the time?” 

“Hm,” she contemplates around her bite of food, “not as much as you’d think.” He shrugs at that and moves to steal an onion ring from the basket in between them. Betty gives him a look to say _I told you so_ and he smiles while he chews. 

They eat the rest of their food in near silence, even though Jughead has a million things he wants to say. Once their plates have been cleared (well, once _he_ had cleared the quarter of a burger Betty couldn’t), and the bottomless coffee they’ve ordered is in front of them, Jughead finally speaks up. 

“I kind of can’t believe you’re here, really,” he tells her genuinely. 

“It’s kind of crazy, right?” she asks, shaking the single serving of sweetner that she took from the caddy on their table. She rips it open and pours it into her mug before saying, “We could have missed each other so easily. If you’d gotten on that train, or if I had…” she trails off, and Jughead suspects there’s more to her ‘missing’ this train than she wants to tell him. Yet, anyway. “Or,” she pipes up again, “we may have seen each other on the train. Or at home.”

Jughead lets out a noise halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “Maybe at Pops, but I don’t exactly spend my visits back to Riverdale hanging out around Elm Street, Betts.” 

He feels horrible as soon as the words leave his mouth, because her face drops and he doesn’t want to make her feel bad at all, not when there’s limited time to make her feel better. 

“You don’t say _home_ , you say _Riverdale_.” Her words come out so soft and quiet, he can barely tell what she’s said. 

“Sorry?” 

“You don’t…” she starts again, clearing her throat, “Whenever we talk about home, you don’t call it that. You say Riverdale.” Betty blinks slowly as she holds his gaze, and it’s a look he doesn’t know. He swallows hard against the lump in his throat. 

“This is home now, for me,” he sighs. He may as well be honest, because if not with her, then with who? “Riverdale doesn’t bring me any comfort anymore.” 

Betty begins to nod slowly, all the while still holding his gaze. 

“Were you even planning on getting on that train?” she asks seriously, with a layer of concern to her voice. “Because unless you were planning on wearing those clothes all weekend, you don’t even have a bag. What were you even doing at the station?” 

He smiles halfheartedly at her and raises his shoulders, because he really doesn’t want to get into the whole discussion of the insecurities that going home brings him. Like if he stays in that trailer one night too many, he’ll get stopped at the door trying to leave by some unseen force and be forbidden to leave that town ever again. Or if he looks too long into the eyes of his dad he can see himself in them, in his body, making the same mistakes that were made before him like family traditions. It scares him more than anything, that those familial connections are too strong and it’s inevitable, like it’s in his genetic makeup to screw up somewhere along the line. 

He hasn’t yet, and he’s not one to test fate. 

And yet, something had driven him to Grand Central Station and forced him to sit at that bench and watch train after train that could have taken him back to Riverdale leave. He knew, as soon as he saw what _could not possibly be Betty Cooper, but most definitely is Betty fucking Cooper_ running down that ramp what it was. 

“Waiting for you, so it seems,” he muses. Quickly, he adds, “Not that I knew that, of course,” just to clarify. If he _had_ known, would he have gone? He’s not sentimental enough to open old wounds on purpose. 

What he is, though, is enough of a masochist to let it happen anyway. 

“I understand what you’re saying, Jug. There’s something claustrophobic about that town,” she says lowly. “But my family’s still there,” there’s a clear of the throat, like a correction, before she continues, “well, the twins are there.” 

“Of course, they must be so big now.” 

Betty smiles wistfully as she picks up her phone from the table. She pushes her thumb against the lock button two, three times before giving up. 

“Must be the grease from those onion rings,” Betty says with through a slightly disgusted laugh. She punches in her lock code before wiping her fingers on a napkin. 

_1002._

He’s kind of taken aback, both by the memory and the fact that she _never changed it?_

They are back in the unforgivingly pink walls of her childhood bedroom, both of them. One of those rare days where it was just the two of them, and Betty had just gotten a new phone for her birthday. The specifics are a little hazy in Jughead’s memory, but she must have gone to the bathroom in the middle of the set up and he, being the dork that he was, chose a passcode for her and when she came back, refused to tell her what it was. Not that it took that long at all; it was Betty, after all. 

_“Really, Jug? Your birthday?” she laughed, shaking her head. “You’re more clever than that.”_

It must have been over 6 years ago, and that’s definitely a new phone. Which means she purposely continued to choose that code. 

_His birthday._

“You still use that?” he asks before he can stop himself. He sees Betty falter for just a split second, a look of panic flashes across her eyes and she fumbles with her phone in her fingers before she rights herself. 

“It’s a habit, I’ve had it for so long I think I’d always forget the new one if I changed it.” She doesn’t look at him as she searches for something in her phone, and Jughead can’t help but laugh. 

“You, Betty Cooper, would forget a four digit code?” He knows he shouldn’t push, but there’s a tug on his heart that he knows he shouldn’t be feeling, and he can’t help it. 

She still doesn’t look at him, and he knows as she turns her phone screen to face him that she’s trying to cause a distraction from the conversation, so he lets her. 

It’s a photo of what must be Juniper and Dagwood, cute as a button in their freshly pressed Riverdale Elementary uniforms. 

“Wow,” Jughead exclaims, “they are like real little people now.” 

Betty tuts before rolling her eyes. “That’s what happens with time, Jug. I remember when we were that age, you seemingly with permanently scraped knees.” She smiles before raising the mug to sip at her coffee, her eyes glazed over with what Jughead presumes is a memory. 

“Yeah, well, that ladder up to Archie’s treehouse definitely wasn’t sanded down enough,” he says, but he’s smiling around his own memory. All the times the three of them would waste afternoons away in that tree house where they were supposed to be doing homework, instead just chatting about their fellow classmates or what film they wanted to see that weekend, chugging away at the homemade lemonade that Mrs Andrews made the best. (He does remember Betty actually doing her school work, though. Of course.) 

“Funny, huh? Time.” _What it takes away from you_ , he thinks as he watches Betty slowly sip away at her coffee, while his eyes flick to the clock on the back wall of the diner. _How there never seems to be enough of it._

“Do you remember that one proper date we went on?” asks Betty, much to Jughead’s shock. He glances back at her face, and finds her gaze locked on his. She’s smiling warmly at him. He’d pretty much figured that maybe this wasn’t really a topic they were supposed to discuss, like there was an unspoken agreement to just not bring up the few times they almost were. 

_Or maybe just not the one time they actually, most definitely were._

Her smile is starting to falter though, so he tries to dissipate his surprise by nodding his head. He doesn’t want her to think that he doesn’t want to talk about it. 

“Of course,” he finally replies. “That’s like, the only non-disastrous date I’ve ever been on.” He’s only half joking. 

“It was so much fun, right?” she asks, her voice all hopeful and light, asking as if she’s worried he doesn’t remember it the same. _He does_. “I mean, we just sat at Pop’s as normal.” She’s smiling down at her hands wrapped around the mug, tracing circles into the white porcelain. Jughead watches her thumb run along the curve of the handle, and only just hears her when she says, “It’s probably still the best date I’ve ever had.” 

Jughead remembers it well, surely far better than he should. He’d finally worked up the courage to ask Betty to hang out, outside of school and the Blue and Gold, without Archie or Veronica or anyone. Betty was his best friend, granted, but so was Archie. Except, the thoughts he’d started to have in regards to Betty were ones he _definitely_ wasn’t having about Archie. 

He won’t ever forget the way his heart had dropped when he’d asked, and Betty had replied with, _“What, like a date?”_ There had been a split second where Jughead had thought she might laugh in his face, push him away and gush about how much of a prankster he was, that maybe his suspicions that she might be feeling something similar for him had been nothing but a fools dream. 

But then he’d noticed the telltale pink blush across the apples of her cheeks, and Betty had tucked her chin into the curve of her shoulder with a hidden smile like a bashful child and said, _“That sounds nice, Juggie.”_

Like Betty had said, all they’d done was sit in a booth at Pop’s alone, but there was something different about it that night. He’d known it then, and apparently so had Betty. He also still knows it now, because when he looks at where she sits opposite him in a different booth in a different place and time, she’s still smiling the same way that she had that night. 

“Would it have even been considered a date if we hadn’t…” he stops as soon as he starts, realising exactly what he’s about to say. 

“What, if you didn’t kiss me goodnight after you’d driven me home?” Betty says softly, looking up at him from under her lashes. 

“Well,” he replies with a smirk. There’s a few things he wants to say, like how he can still remember his heart beating around inside his chest like it had come loose as he’d leaned across that stick shift and pressed his lips to hers, how he’d driven home on cloud fucking nine with a smile he couldn’t wipe that had caused his dad to ask him, _“You get laid or something, boy?”_

He remembers waking up the next morning, his cheeks sore from falling asleep with that stupid wide grin still stamped across his face. He remembers finding that single letter, addressed to him, on the tiny table in the tiny trailer, with the NYU logo taunting him in the top left corner as he’d ripped it open. He’d only read the word congratulations! before sinking into one of the rickety chairs at the dining table. 

He remembers thinking that _of course,_ because the world had never let anything work in his favour. He’d applied for NYU only because he felt he had to, he owed it to himself, but he was under no illusion he would be accepted. (Nor was he expecting the sudden realisation that there wasn’t any way he wasn’t going to go). Now the world had given him one dream come true, while simultaneously taking away the other. Because in no circumstance could he have had both. 

In no circumstance was Jughead Jones ever allowed to be 100% happy. 

He’d already been accepted into UCLA, they all had. They’d all planned on moving out there together, facing and conquering the new world headfirst and not alone. But he knew, as soon as he ripped that letter open and read those words, UCLA was no longer an option for him. 

Which meant, neither was being with Betty.

Betty, who sits across from him now, watching intently as he strolls down his own memory lane. 

She yawns then, and he’s reminded that it’s almost 3am. 

“Getting sleepy, Cooper?” he asks. It’s probably better to move on from that conversation anyway, he reminds himself. That’s unsteady ground. 

“A tad,” she replies around another yawn, which he finds adorable. “But where can I check in at like,” she picks up her phone and takes note of the time, “2.48am?” 

“My place.” As if he’s going to make her find somewhere to stay, this late, and in the city on Thanksgiving, of all days. 

“Jug, I,” she starts, shaking her head a little, “you don’t have to put me up.” 

“Betts, I’m not just going to leave you to to the streets of Manhattan. Not when I have a perfectly fine couch…” he pauses for dramatic effect, and adores the start of the smile that pulls at Betty’s cheeks, “that I can sleep on whilst lending you my bed.” 

She makes a humming sort of sound, so Jughead tries to fight his case. “I’ll order you an Uber to the station first thing in the morning, I promise.” 

He reaches out for her hand then, softly lays his fingers atop hers.

“Please, I’ll feel better.” 

Betty watches him for a moment, her eyes darting across his features. 

“Okay, thanks Jug.” She’s looking at him so fondly, like he’s going above and beyond, when in reality he’s just being selfish and stupid and trying to steal as much time with her as possible. “We need to continue our walk anyway, whereabouts do you live?” 

“Crown Heights, in Brooklyn,” he tells her. “It’s just over an hour from here, if we walk at my pace and not…what?” He can tell Betty is trying not to laugh, and he can’t figure out why. 

“You live in Crown Heights?” she clarifies through her ridiculous giggle. 

Oh, he realises, _there it is._

“Yup.” He knows it’s ironic. 

“Jug, that’s-”

“Don’t say it,” he warns her, but he’s laughing now too. “You ready to go?” 

Jughead tries to beat Betty to the front counter to foot the bill, but she reaches up to him quickly and hits him out of the way with a swing of her duffel bag. 

“Jug, you’re letting me stay with you in my deepest time of need, at least let me cover this.” 

He holds up his hands in surrender and takes a step back, letting Betty through to smile sweetly at Pam as she pulls her purse from her bag and hands over her card. 

“It’s so nice to see Jughead not alone in here for once,” Pam mentions, with a look on her face that he takes to mean she thinks this is some kind of date. 

Like he would take a girl to a diner at 2am just because. 

“Oh, we’re-”

“We’re old friends,” Betty finishes for him. Pam just smirks knowingly and nods her head slowly, like she doesn’t quite believe them. 

“Okay, kids. Get home safe now.” Betty offers her thanks as she takes the receipt, tucking it into her purse which then gets tucked back into her bag. Jughead leads them out of the diner, opening the door and letting Betty out first. 

It’s definitely colder out here than it was before they went in, and Jughead can hear the echoes of the city behind them. Music, people, cars. He takes Betty’s bag from her once again, tugs it over his own shoulder, then nods his head in the direction of the Williamsburg Bridge and follows Betty as she starts to aimlessly walk. 

He tucks his hands into the pocket of his denim sherpa jacket, moving soundlessly to the side of the pavement as two girls saunter past them, probably drunk and in search of another club. 

“Don’t you just love a wild night in the city?” he asks jokingly, after the girls have walked a good distance away from them and he knows that he won’t be heard. Betty lets out a light laugh before tucking her own hands into her pockets and glancing at him sideways. 

“Speaking of wild, Chuck Clayton messaged me when he saw I was in NYC.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mm. I told him I wouldn’t have any free time, but I’m starting to feel like he may have been more entertaining company,” she teases. He watches as her eyes shimmer in her own joke, her tongue trapped between her front teeth. 

“Ouch, and in this corner, Elizabeth Cooper with the _knife_ to my _back_ ,” he teases right back, nudging her shoulder with his own. “Okay, I see your Clayton, and raise you a McCoy.” 

Betty’s head whips around to face him so abruptly that her ponytail comes around to hit the side of her face, and she stops dead in her tracks. 

“Josie?” she asks, shock evident in her tone. 

“The Broadway star, that’s right. She got in touch, miraculously, last time she was performing,” he tells her, nudging her once more with his shoulder to get her to start moving again, turning them both into Pitt Street. “I don’t even have Facebook, and I have no fucking idea how she got my number. I’m not really sure what she wanted.” 

“A date?” Betty asks incredulously. He can’t really pinpoint the look on her face, so he mentally marks it under _New Betty_ and then gives her a look of his own that says _really?_

“Do you not remember what she used to call me in school?” He watches Betty’s face scrunch up in concentration as she tries to remember, and Jugheads head falls back as he lets out a laugh, a puff of white air in the cold night. “Juggie Darko,” he reminds her. 

“Oh god,” Betty cringes, “that’s right. I’d nearly forgotten about that.” 

“Yeah can’t say I haven’t tried that,” Jughead scoffs, “along with everything else about those years.” 

Betty gives him another sideways glance as they carry on down the sidewalk. “Everything?” 

He catches her gaze then, and there’s the smallest trace of a smirk on her face. 

“Alright,” he starts, nudging her with his shoulder again. He’s starting to wonder if that’s annoying, or just obvious that he’s looking for any excuse to touch her. “Not everything.” 

They walk in silence for a little bit, but as they turn onto Delancey to get to the pedestrian entrance of Williamsburg Bridge, Jughead speaks up. 

“Maybe Josie was just curious. I mean, as much as I have actively avoided every single person in that hellhole town, I’m still kind of curious to know what everyone’s doing after college.” 

Betty stays quiet for a moment longer, until they’ve finally crossed the road and reached the bridge, and as they start to walk up the incline, she says, “Hit me.” 

“Huh?” 

“I kind of keep in touch with a few people, who do you wanna know about?” she says, tucking her hands further into the pockets of her coat against the wind that’s started to pick up now their on the bridge. 

“Well, start obvious. What’s Archie doing?” He winces as soon as he’s asked, because he sees the way she blinks a few times and bites at the corner of her lip. He knows he’s hitting at a soft spot, but it would be obvious if he just skipped over their oldest friend. Besides, they didn’t fall _out,_ they just fell _apart._

“He’s an architect, which you know. He graduated just last year. Actually he, um, he wants to move home, back to Riverdale, and take over Andrews Construction,” she says awkwardly. He’s not going to ask what that means for her. 

“How is Fred, anyway?” he asks instead. 

“He’s doing well, Arch just wants him to be able to retire comfortably,” she tells him before moving on to the next person. Jughead presumes it’s too close to home, and from that phone call he heard earlier, he presumes that’s not exactly a happy tale. 

“Veronica lives in Paris,” says Betty, and Jughead wonders if maybe Veronica hasn’t told her about their, albeit limited, email correspondence. He’d been surprised when Veronica had emailed him that first time, but given that they were both on a little bit of common ground for once, they found a talking point. He’s not really sure how many other people she stays in touch with, and it surprises himself that he’s glad to be a part of her small list. And then it just became a thing they did, once every other month or so he would receive an email, besides all the boring this-is-going-on-how-about-you necessary stuff, she’d also send him detailed descriptions of some particular Parisian restaurant she went to last week, and that was always his favourite part. 

“Her fashion design is amazing, Jug. Some of her pieces were included in Paris fashion week last year. She’s doing so, so well.” He can hear the pride in her voice, and maybe something akin to jealousy. They are over the East River now, and Betty walks closer to the railing, pausing a moment to look out over the water. 

The wind is whipping the wisps of fallout from her ponytail around the curves of her face, and Jughead resists the urge to brush them away, to tuck them behind her ear so they no longer obstruct his view of her face. _She’s still so beautiful_ , he thinks. _So so beautiful_. He takes just a second during her pause to really look at her features, trying to find if anything about her is physically different. She’s filled out a little, he notes, but in the way that someone is supposed to grow into their body in their twenties. In the way a woman grows into herself, because that is what she is now, _a woman_ , and he’s not really sure whether he should mark that in the _New Betty_ column. Then she turns to him and smiles, one he can see in her eyes and he feels warm right to his toes, and he knows that one, that look, and decides to scrap the stupid list altogether. There’s no point to trying to determine what’s new and what’s the same about someone he doesn’t really know anymore. 

Five years is a long time, he knows he’s definitely not who he was at 18. 

And besides, when she smiles at him like that, all he can see is the Betty he loved so much and that trumps everything else. She’s still there. 

“I miss her,” Betty says, interrupting his train of thought. Her face is solemn, so Jughead doesn’t press on the matter. He wasn’t really sure how much, or even if, Betty and Veronica spoke. She starts to walk again, and he follows slightly behind. When she turns back to look at him over her shoulder she raises a brow. The pedestrian bridge splits in two, and he nods his head to the right side path. 

“Kev is in Harvard Law School.”

“Seriously?” Jughead asks in surprise, walking faster to catch up with her. She must be fit, he thinks, because even though he walks across this bridge a lot, the steady rise always gets him a little. 

“Yup,” she stops her sentence there to smile at a passer by on the bridge, and Jughead wonders how everyone doesn’t fall in love with this woman when she smiles at them. “Amazing, huh? I think he’s just in it for the scandal.” 

Jughead laughs, shaking his head lightly. That definitely sounds like Kevin. 

“And Cheryl, she’s a socialite,” Bettys says, with a roll of her eyes. “In her own words, of course. I think I’d refer to her more as a profession attention seeker. But, she has got a pretty big online following just for being herself.” She’s smiling, so Jughead wonders if some of the familial tension has dissipated. “She sends me things, cousin perks and all.” 

_Ahh,_ he thinks. 

“That’s all I know, really…oh!” Betty interrupts herself. “I also know, thanks to a certain big-mouth, that Moose Mason is out and proud. Married, and all.” She laughs. ‘Who would have thought he’d be the first of us to marry, hey?” 

She means for the question to be rhetorical, but Jughead considers this for a moment. If he had to pinpoint who he thought would be married first, his finger would be directed at Archie. He was always impulsive, and in love with every girl who showed him any amount of attention.

He realises how eternally grateful he is that that’s not how it turned out. His reasoning is completely selfish, this he knows. If his two (ex) best friends are that happy and in love together, he should be happy for them. 

And he is. _I am, I am_ , he repeats like a mantra in his mind. 

It’s not that he’s _just_ been moping over what could have been with Betty these past five years, because he’s had other interests, even tiny flings with girls who he’d genuinely liked. It’s just that none of them ever really made him feel like she did, even just from that one night they had. No one has made him feel that way since, and he’s started to wonder recently whether his life will just be a sad existence of never really moving on from his first love, but pretending otherwise. 

It would have been easier, he guesses, if he had never seen her again. 

Because when he saw her at the station, long before she’d seen him, everything he’d known to be true then came flooding back in waves. Before he’d even spoken to her, before she had even seen him, he’d spent those few minutes trying to swallow his heart back down his throat into his chest so he could breathe, let alone speak, just in case she spotted him from his sad spot on that bench. 

Jughead likes to think that if she hadn’t of approached first, he could have let her be. He could have watched her leave. 

That’s what he likes to think. 

“Well,” he replies finally, clearing his throat. “Congratulations to the happy couple.” 

The mention of Moose, one of the notorious jocks and definitely one of Jughead’s least favourite school peers, reminds him of another not-so-likeable classmate. 

“Shame about Reggie, huh? Losing his scholarship for Notre Dame with that doping scandal,” he laughs. He can’t _help_ but laugh, not with the amount of times that Reggie Mantle told him he would amount to nothing more than the shit on his shoe. 

“Oh, my god. Quite the scandal,” Betty laughs too, which makes Jughead feel like less of an asshole about it. She, of all people, knows that Reggie probably had it coming. 

“You know, that was quite a well-written article by Alice Cooper herself,” he notes, nudging Betty with his shoulder. She looks up to gaze at him with the mention of her mother’s name, a quizzical look on her face. “I personally think it was endearing, the amount of times she name-dropped Mr and Mrs Mantle respectively, like she couldn’t believe parents could be so blind as to miss such a big thing going on under their noses.” He’s being sarcastic about the endearing part, but he knows Betty will be picking up exactly what he’s trying to get at here. _Alice Cooper, meet kettle._

Except when he turns to look at her, she’s still wearing that quizzical look on her face. Her nose is scrunched a little, her brows pulled in. He might find it cute, if he was sure he hadn't said something wrong. Before he has the chance to ask what’s wrong, though, she speaks up. 

“You still read the Register?” Her voice comes out low. She’s still walking, they are nearly off the bridge now and somehow she’s keeping her balance walking down the decline and looking at his face instead of ahead of her. His own eyes flick between her and the path because he is definitely not as graceful as her. Betty’s arms are folded across her middle now, instead of in her pockets, and he hopes it’s not some sort of body language signal he’s missing. 

“Of course,” he replies eagerly. “I mean, just because I’m disinterested with the town doesn’t mean I’m not nosey.” He shrugs, but Betty is still looking at him like she’s not buying it. He sighs before resigning to be honest. “Plus, I figured the online hit count probably helps your parents’ justification for keeping it going.” 

Betty finally looks away from him then, her eyes darting to her feet. A small smile tugs at the very corners of her mouth. 

“You’re not wrong.” Her eyes dart back to his for a second, and he’s not sure whether it’s just the reflection from the glow of the lights that illuminate the bridge, but he swears he can see moisture brimming. Betty blinks once, twice, and then looks away from him once more with a sigh. 

“So,” Jughead starts, deciding to change the subject back to something with more solid ground. “Anyone of our other classmates doing amazing things with their lives?” 

Betty reaches her hand back into her pocket and pulls her phone out, and Jughead makes a sound that’s almost a snort when Betty throws him a look as she unlocks her phone with her pin. 

“Maybe I should change that,” she jokes under her breath. 

_Please don’t,_ he thinks. 

“Okay, shall we look?” Betty asks, waving her phone around in his face with her tongue between her face. The Facebook app is open, and Jughead picks up what she’s putting down. 

“Yeah, fuck it,” he cheers, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Facebook was made for poking your nose in everyone’s business anyway, right?” 

Betty laughs her agreement, and so all the rest of the way off the bridge, and then as Jughead directs Betty down Bedford Ave to his place, they search up every name they can think of from Riverdale High. 

His side still aches from finding out that Dilton Doiley, of all people, has ended up as a high fashion model photographer. Betty did some searching and concluded that he was even dating one of his more frequent subjects. 

“Damn,” Jughead tries to breathe through his persistent laughing as Betty shows him through his instagram. “I can’t even be mad, what a guy.” 

There’s one particular photo that has Betty in fits of what can only be described as giggles, and Jughead feels _something_ , whatever _something_ is, awaken in himself. Something he thought he had put to bed years ago. It’s like a sort of magnetic pull towards Betty, and he’s suddenly overcome with the urge to reach out and hold her hand. 

She beats him to it, kind of, by grabbing at his forearm and saying in surprise, “Jug, I found Ethel’s instagram.” 

“Oh, god,” he groans, because he knows what Betty is about to say. (He tries not to think about how cold his arm feels when she drops her hand.)

“Poor girl, she was so besotted with you, Jug,” she reminds him, like Ethel Muggs’ odd obsession with him was something he’d forgotten about. Betty shows him pictures from her instagram, and Jughead is kind of shocked at how much she looks the same as she did back then. Although, he’s sure people would say the same of him. 

He still wears the same damn beanie. 

Turns out Ethel is some kind of activist for women's rights in her spare time, which Jughead admires. They spend the rest of the walk to Jughead’s apartment finding out about Josie’s next role on Broadway, Mel and Val’s producing company, and even snooping through Reggie’s social media in hopes of finding out something interesting. 

He lays pretty low, apparently. 

“And then there’s you,” Jughead finally comments, while Betty tucks away her phone back in her pocket. “The wondrous Elizabeth Cooper. What has she been up to since we left Riverdale High?” 

“Well,” Betty starts, playing along. “She’s a UCLA graduate, still living in LA, which she hates. She’s currently an editor for an established magazine, which she also hates.” 

Jughead is watching her face, looking for any sign that she might be having him on or joking around. She shrugs then, but when she looks at him, she’s still wearing a smile that’s reflected in her eyes, so he doesn’t push. If she wants to talk, she’ll talk. 

“And then there’s Forsythe, who writes blurbs for other people’s novels instead of working on his own?” Betty tilts her head to the side as she looks at him, like she’s expecting an answer. 

_Snapped_ , he thinks. Of fucking course, Betty would be the only one to actually notice it that way. He shrugs, which he realises he’s been doing a lot tonight. 

“I lost my own spark a while back, pretty much right after graduation. At least this way I can still write, and read,” he tells her, trying to justify it to Betty in the same way he tries to justify it to himself on a regular basis. 

They have turned onto his own street now, and Betty lets out a low whistle. 

“Well, this is a lovely neighborhood, so that must be working out for you.” 

He shrugs again, like a schmuck. 

“Like I said, pays stupidly well.” 

Betty glances towards him then with a sideways smile, and follows him when he turns her up the path to his apartment building. 

“So, this is me,” Jughead tells her, gesturing to the brick building he calls home as he punches in the code for the main door. He watches Betty take it all in, and she doesn’t even really need to say what it is she’s thinking because it’s written all over her face. Besides, he’s fully aware of how much of an upgrade this is from Sunnyside trailer park, that’s for sure. 

He presses the button for the elevator, and while they wait for it to come down, Betty tucks her arm into the fold of Jughead’s elbow and rests her head against his shoulder. He resists the urge to nestle his face in her hair that he can feel tickling the side of his face. 

“You’re a long way from home, Jug,” she whispers. 

He clears his throat, but then the elevator arrives with a ding, and all he can think while she’s still tucked into his side as they step foot into the elevator and he presses the button for his floor is,

_Not as far as you’d think._

.  
.  
.

 

**tbc**

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know your thoughts in a comment! or on [tumblr!](https://allskynostars.tumblr.com/) i'm always around.


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